Victory
by Nerys
Summary: On May 2nd 1998 Lord Voldemort died. Victory was here, but for whom? Currently a TMR/LV one-shot, but could turn into a HG-TR chaptered fic in the future.


**Spoilers: **All Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows and its ending.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's note: **Okay, I just thought I post this one-shot I wrote to get back into the Potter-writing-mood to see what you all think of it. Though in its current form it doesn't yet belong in the Hermione-Tom category, I still posted it here, since I may turn it into a multi-chaptered fic. Not sure about that yet. I have some ideas on what to do plot-wise, but it still needs something.

**Beta:** with thanks to Liz for her hard work.

And another thanks to Serpent In Red for reminding me the name is Aragog not Aragorn (Palm-Head). And I didn't even like "The Lord of the Rings" books, so where _that_ came from...? *ROFL*

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**Victory**

_May 2__nd__ 1998_

A lonely centaur galloped through the dark Forbidden Forest. It was silent apart for the thumping of his hooves. It seemed almost as if the war at the castle had taken all the noise out of the air and compressed it into the raging battle at hand. Out here, everything appeared tranquil, solemn, and peaceful. A small spring breeze rustled through the centaur's long black hair, caressing him. But he was not fooled by the unusual pleasantness of his surroundings. He hurried along fearfully, knowing his proximity to Aragog's lair and the threat that lingered around that place. Unnoticed, his hoof stepped on one of the most valuable wizarding artefacts in the world, pushing the Gaunt Ring firmly into the soft underground and covering it up completely.

As the centaur moved on, dawn was on the verge of breaking through the night. The end of a war was coming; the upcoming flash of sunlight an almost prophetic sign of the fall of the darkest of all wizards. At the Hogwarts Castle in the distance, the body of Lord Voldemort plummeted to the ground, dead.

Immediately, a flash of light sprang from beneath the centaur's imprint in the ground with such power the earth was blasted aside. It revealed the gold ring, which was shooting the light up into the sky from within the heart of its legendary magic. This black stone engraved with the Peverell coat of arms slowly mended itself from the damage done by the Sword of Gryffindor. Once the crack was sealed, a dark mist emerged from within. The mist became denser and denser, crowding together and forming a figure that steadily became solid. The figure gained clarity, its outline turning into a tall young man with jet-black hair and the darkest eyes known in history.

Rising from the ashes of his soul, Tom Marvolo Riddle leaned his head backwards and took a deep breath. Moving his head left and right while stretching his arms, he began examining his new body. It felt familiar yet unusually vital. Quickly, he came to the conclusion that his hands had lost their spidery outlook; he had hair and a nose; his skin was pale but not nearly as white and translucent as he had got used to; and last but not least, he was wearing Hogwarts robes!

The last thing Lord Voldemort remembered was standing in the Great Hall and casting another Killing Curse at the blasted Potter boy who refused to die as he was destined to do. But here he was, standing between the trees. What happened? Was he dead?

He pinched himself – that hurt. Tom decided he was alive.

_His wand! _

Shocked, his hand reached into his right-hand pocket and withdrew a thirteen-and-a-half inch yew wand with a phoenix feather core. Relief flooded through him as he felt the warm comforting tingle of magic flowing within his nerves upon its contact. But this hadn't been the wand he had been using. How did his old wand come back to him? How did he get into this ridiculous outfit? And why had his body changed?

His eyes swept over his surroundings, until they landed on the heirloom resting in the hole in the ground. Tom squatted down and lifted the Gaunt Ring, puzzled. He remembered how the old coot had destroyed his Horcrux. Yet, his physique seemed very similar to the time he created this particular Horcrux, right after his N.E.W.T. exams at Hogwarts. His finger rubbed over the now intact stone. It was no longer cracked as it had become when Dumbledore stabbed Gryffindor's Sword into it.

He recalled that nasty incident very clearly; the darned, nosey, interfering busybody had been foolish enough to try on the ring. At the time, it had surprised him. He wasn't aware his old professor was _that_ stupid. There was nothing to gain by putting on the ring; and surely, the great Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore of all people should have realised he had cursed the ring to protect the piece of his soul inside?

Oh well, too much sugar to the brain must have done the damage. Then again, the man always was somewhat out there.

Tom rolled his eyes, while recalling some of his conversations with the lemon drop junkie; conversations that drove him to the brink of insanity. Yes, seeing his curse do its deadly damage to Albus Dumbledore had been a wonderful experience. Only, he should have made the curse's death more rapid, because somehow the fool had found a way to make it back to Severus Snape – the blasted traitor – who had halted the imminent demise of the Headmaster and given Dumbledore plenty of time to destroy his Horcrux before his own inescapable death.

Nevertheless, despite the destruction of the ring, here he was.

Here he was – alive and well – and … remembering everything. Even things he didn't remember while being inside the ring; even things that happened after the Horcrux was long destroyed; even things that happened with his other Horcruxes; things he had always been unaware of. He knew everything that occurred to every bit of him up until the moment of his death in the Great Hall. How was that possible? That wasn't how it had been the first time around. It also hadn't happened to him when he vacated his journal.

Once more he moved his finger over the black stone. What was different?

The only answer, he could come up with right there and then, was that every part of him was gone before he resurrected again – unlike before. And if his memory was any indication, this time he had resurrected wholly – unlike before. Perhaps Dumbledore had failed to destroy him fully? Still, it had been a painful incident. He recalled screaming like a baby. It had felt like dying for sure, terrifying.

Tom shivered visibly.

However, this couldn't be the answer. He felt there were pieces of the puzzle missing, vital pieces. For what seemed like an eternity, he stared at the ring, willing it to supply him with the answer and it came.

The Resurrection Stone, he mused, staring at the sign in the stone. The Resurrection Stone – capable of bringing back people from the afterlife; and he had died, he was certain of that now. This ring contained the Deathly Hallow of Cadmus Peverell; and there were three of them, three Hallows: the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone and Death's Cloak of Invisibility – Potter's cloak. Excitement flew through him when he recalled this cloak was supposed to protect the wearer from Death himself.

Tom frowned. Would that be why Potter continued to evade him?

He rolled the ring in his hand. Potter had dropped it in the Forbidden Forest upon walking toward him; meaning this had to be the Forbidden Forest. It had already seemed eerily familiar to him before. But how come he suddenly knew this information? He hadn't known before. He hadn't been around when Potter dropped it.

But he had!

He closed his eyes and sighed. His hand smacked his forehead as more memories of another life, Harry Potter's, flashed by before his very eyes. He could just kill himself. He had been inside that boy all along. Potter was a Horcrux. The advantage that should have afforded him, it almost made him want to pull his newly gained hair out of his skull, _almost_.

How had he missed the boy being a Horcrux all this time? He'd always known there was some weird magical connection between them, but this... THIS! Victory had been within his grasp.

An unearthly scream sounded through the forest in frustration, followed by a dash of red that blew up several trees. Large shadows – that were lingering behind the trees – became visible. Lord Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously, watching as Acromantula after Acromantula fell victim to the Killing Curse produced by his wand, until the rest of them fled back into their lair fearfully. Breathing heavily, he stood there; his temper subsided with the satisfaction he gained from the death and destruction he caused to Hagrid's pets.

Slowly, his mood turned from anger to elation. He had all the answers; ALL of them! He just had to delve deep into his Horcrux' memories. There wasn't a single secret Potter would be able to keep from him over those years in the past. He had witnessed everything. He just needed to put all the pieces in the right place and find the secret behind Potter's continuous success. This time around Lord Voldemort would be victorious. The next time he would meet Potter, he would be prepared. The boy wouldn't know what hit him before it was too late.

Tom slid the ring on his finger and smirked. First and foremost he would create a new safe base of operations, lay low and establish a solid foundation in the shadows on which to rebuild his empire. He had to rethink matters, find his previous flaws and correct them. A new strategy was needed; one that would bring him the success a wizard of his stature and standing was entitled to. He wouldn't make the same mistake again, he was certain of that. Potter's memories were his ticket to victory. The boy's winning streak just ran out.

Tom Riddle spun on the spot and disapparated to one of his secure hideouts. It was a good thing he had taken every contingency into account beforehand, even the despicable idea of being defeated at some point. Because Tom had always known that in order to win the war you sometimes have to lose the battle.

As the world began celebrating Lord Voldemort's death and the end of the war, little did they know, it had only just begun.

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End file.
